


günler kısa

by fangirl_screaming



Category: The Last Kids on Earth (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Character Study, Diary/Journal, End of the World, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, but it's angst + hurt no comfort so, honestly it isnt even that sad, one (1) pretty pathetic attempt at comedy, title from a song, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_screaming/pseuds/fangirl_screaming
Summary: Even though she doesn't want to, June has to admit that she misses the everyday chaos of school.It gets lonely in the apocalypse.
Relationships: nope
Comments: 20
Kudos: 11





	günler kısa

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i actually wrote this for my english class yesterday (well technically the day before yesterday since it's 1 am) but then i finally binge-read the first book and inspiration struck so i polished it and developed it a bit more 
> 
> can you tell?
> 
> also the title translates to "days are short", it's a sedef sebüktekin song because ✨i can✨

June huffs as she wipes some sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. She can hear the collective groans of the zombies from the other side of the door she has just blocked.

After approximately one and a half weeks of sneaking around the (undead) school staff and students roaming in the halls and barely being able to go out, she had finally decided on taking a considerably big risk and try to gather all of them and lock them up in a part of the school she wasn’t going to use.

But her plan has gone south, and she has ended up blocking the door that leads to the lower floor of the school.

She has _definitely_ underestimated the number of the faculty members, the remaining students and the janitors combined. And people say ‘Parker Middle School’ isn’t that big. One second there are ten after her, the next, she’s suddenly outrunning the triple of what the amount was in the beginning. Gathering all of them up _was_ a good call, though, she has to give herself that.

She catches her breath for a minute, her hands on her knees. Afterwards, she clasps them behind her head and starts walking the opposite way.

Despite the fact that only one and a half weeks have passed, the paint on the walls has started to fade because of the glowing vines growing on them, leaving June with a gut-wrenching sense of sadness and nostalgia every time she looks at them. The tiles she’s walking on are mostly broken, they make it even harder to walk—considering ninety percent of the ground is covered with vines, she doesn’t have a lot to work with. There’s stuff everywhere; from notebooks to backpacks, from graded test papers to broken pencil. Most of the stuff has probably fallen from the lockers.

Lockers that belonged to kids like her, kids that are probably dead or zombie-fied. She tries to brush off the sinking feeling in her stomach.

The halls that were usually supposed to be joyful and colorful and brimming with energy are dead silent, the only voice puncturing the silence being the girl's soft footsteps. Most of the time, she tries to convince herself that the silence is better than noise—that it gives her hearing some clarity and silence will help her detect sounds more easily. Though, she's not a good liar, not even to herself.

It gets lonely. She has to admit that.

She finally arrives to the classroom she's been camping on—the English class (also the class were the school journalism team would meet up after school)—and gets her small notebook to write her accomplishments for the day.

  * “the amount of butt-kicked zombies:”



She stops, and thinks.

  * “too many, couldn’t count. though, technically, their butts weren’t kicked—but rather locked in downstairs. remind yourself to keep away from the blue door with the X.”



She underlines the last part.

  * “the food ration left:”



She glances at the locker across her, she silently counts the amount of snack packs left.

  * “half a box of granola bars, 2 cracker boxes, 3 packs of chips, 5 packs of walnuts and almonds, and 2 cold sandwiches. 5 water bottles, and one capri sun. has to last me a few more weeks if i use them sparsely. definitely doing better.”



She remembers when she had to hide in a closet for two straight days, and shudders.

  * “additional notes: still no sign from my parents. or anyone. locked the zombies up today. nearly died. no injuries except for a few scratches here and there and a bruise on my knee. it hurts. i don’t think it’s broken but it’s going to be a while before it completely heals.”



She lightly punches her kneecap, and hisses as pain spreads from her leg to her body. She sighs and combs her hair backwards, and only then she realizes how greasy her hair has gotten. And how badly she smells like sweat.

  * “good GOD i stink.”



She half-heartedly chuckles at her pathetic attempt at cracking a joke in her journal, and continues writing.

  * “even though i, like literally any 13 year old, used to say that i hate school; i have to admit that it gets depressing without… everything. without the lessons, and breaks, and the small talk i used to have with my friends between breaks, and journalism team, and hockey, and people, and”



Her hand stops. She takes a shaky breath and tries to blink away the tears that are pricking her eyes.

  * “just… everything. it gets silent. lonely. writing these entries is probably the only thing that’s keeping me sane. it feels like it’s been forever. however i know for a fact that—”



She glances over to the tally marks she draws on the wall beside her.

  * “—it’s only been 11 days.”



11 days. The girl repeats herself with a whisper, not believing it despite the tally marks that are literally _right_ there.

It feels so short (too short) compared to what she’s been feeling. And it _is_ too short.

_Though,_ she thinks, _I guess being stuck in a school with limited places to go and limited things to do just makes you lose your sense of time._

  * “it feels like it’s been forever. but… even if i wanted to, i can’t leave school.”



Ironic.

  * “not because of the fact that literally every inch of lower floor and the front yard of the school is covered in zombies (okay yeah maybe that is a big factor too), but… my parents last saw me here. i saw my parents last in here. And if i leave, they won’t know where to look for me. i can’t leave. i’m scared.”



The girl stares at the last sentence she wrote.

“Scared”.

The word feels so foreign, so alien. It’s like smiling for the first time after months of sulking. The way your cheek muscles ache the slightest, your lips stretch… it feels just like that. She can’t recount the last time she used “I”, “am”, and “scared” in the same sentence.

Though, for some reason, she feels as if an invisible weight was just lifted off her shoulders.

She sighs again, and rubs the couple drops of tears away from her face with her sleeves. “I should sleep,” she murmurs to herself, “I have a lot of things to do tomorrow.”

She doesn’t know what those things are.

She crawls towards the sleeping bag she had managed to snatch from that one (disastrous) time she had gone outside of school. She gets inside the bag as she kicks her shoes from her feet. The cold nylon grazes against her, and she shivers.

“Good night,” she whispers to herself and closes her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading :')
> 
> also for the record, the first first draft i had of this (the one i submitted for english class) was only 219 words


End file.
